


Unsinkable

by sombriero



Series: Unsinkable [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, MCR, RMS Titanic, Titanic - Freeform, unsinkable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:30:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sombriero/pseuds/sombriero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set on the Titanic.<br/>Frank Iero is a member of a struggling English family, whose life gets turned around when he steps foot onto the RMS Titanic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been interested in the Titanic for ages now and thought h EY why not write a titanic frerard?????????????? there are going to be heaps of historical inaccuracies and what have you but please enjoy and pls dont cry but i wont blame you if you die good luck

_**Wednesday 3rd April 1912** _

Frank jumped with fright as he heard the door slam, his pen falling to the floor, as his father arrived home from a long day at work. It had been like that for most nights now, Frank was beginning to get used to it. His dad worked in a big factory all day, every day, without fail. He worked so hard, they could all see it. The bruises he would come home with, the dirt and the grime smeared across his forehead, heavy shadows under his eyes from late nights and early mornings. He did it for them, his family. Frank stood up from the couch he had been sitting on and slowly walked over to the other side of the small room, floorboards creaking as he sat himself down in the left corner of the room, ear against the wall.

“Linda, we can't stay here.”

“What do you mean?”

“We can't stay here.” Frank heard his dad say, almost in a whisper, but still loud enough for him to hear through the thin wall. “We can't afford to stay here.”

“Why?! What happened?!” His mother asked. Frank brought his knees further up to his chest and hugged them, resting his chin on top as he continued to listen to his parent's conversation.

“I was laid off.” His father cleared his throat as Frank heard him place something, probably his glasses, on top of the kitchen table.

His mother gasped, “How come?!”

“They said my assistance was no longer required.” He paused. “They didn't exactly give me a reason.”

“But you have been working there for almost twenty years!”

“I know.”

Frank bit the side of this cheek and looked up at the ceiling, fighting to keep the persistent tears away. Life was hard enough being born into a struggling family. A family that could only afford the bare necessities. Frank's father was the only one of the family with an income and it supported them with enough money to put food on the table, be clothed and have a roof over their heads. And that was about it. There were never any birthday presents, no Christmas gifts and certainly no toys or games to be occupied with. Frank had always been interested by the guitar, the way a song could be created just by placing a finger on one of the frets and plucking a string. He had been taken to a performance when he was younger, and had watched the guitarist intently, only dreaming of the day when one of the instruments would be there for him to call his own. Frank still had to wait a while longer.

“So what are we going to do now?” Came his mother's voice.

“We have to relocate.”

“To where?”

“America.”

Frank's jaw dropped.

“America?! We can't go to America! Our life is here! Our lives are here! In England! We've been here our whole life! And you expect us to just move?!” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that?!”

Frank shook his head and looked up at the framed painting sitting above him on the wall. It was a painting his mother had been given by a neighbour who had moved away a while ago. It was Paris, the Eiffel Tower, in all of it's glory. Something that Frank would never get to see.

“I knew this would happen.” His father, again.

“What?”

“I bought the tickets two months ago.”

“Tickets?”

“The Titanic.”

Frank lifted his head.

“T-the Titanic? As in the Titanic?”

Frank imagined his dad nodding, smug.

“When do we leave?”

“Next Wednesday.”

 

Frank closed his eyes, confusion sweeping over him. He didn't want to leave. Despite the poverty, his life was pretty okay. He had a great family, great friends and a talent for writing poetry that people could only dream of. His poetry was published anonymously in the local newspaper from time to time. Frank never received any profit from it, what with him not leaving a name to be accredited to and sneakily dropping it on the doorstep of the editor before running off again, but that is the way he wanted it. He did it for fun, not for the money value of his work. He sighed and rested his head on his knees, thinking about the future. Was his dad actually serious about this? They had lived in the same house their whole lives. Moving would be a big deal, especially to a completely different country such as America. What Frank wanted to know was how his family could afford to move, let alone sail on the Titanic, the ship that everyone had been raving about for the past year or so. Labelled “unsinkable”, the ship was basically a floating hotel, with wealthy people from all over the world apparently flocking to it. It was thought to be the largest ship in the world. What sacrifice had his dad made in order to get tickets? Frank was starting to panic.

“Frank! Abbie! Dinner's ready!” He heard his mum call from the next room. Frank got up off of the floor, closed his notebook that was lying open on the coffee table and ambled into the kitchen, anxious.

“Good evening, boy.” Frank's dad greeted him as his son sat down at the quaint kitchen table, Frank acknowledging him with a small nod.

“What's for dinner?” Frank's younger sister asked, jumping into the room holding one of her old dolls, eventually sitting down beside her brother at the table. Her question was answered shortly after by their mother placing a steaming bowl of potatoes in front of them, before sitting herself down opposite them and beside her husband.

“I hate potatoes.” Abbie whined, grimacing as she mushed up the vegetables with her fork.

“Just eat it, Abbie.” Her mother sighed.

The family ate in silence, interrupted by the odd cough or scrape of a plate, but silence nonetheless.

“Kids, I have something to tell you.” Frank's father began, collectively putting down his knife and fork and stealing a sideways glance at his wife. Frank copied his father's actions and looked down at his lap, he knew this had been coming.

“What is it, daddy?” Abbie asked, curious.

He took a deep breath before replying. “We are moving. To America.”

“America?! Oh, daddy! That will be great! In time for my birthday?!” Abbie remarked, smiling wide and leaping up out of her seat to wrap her arms around her father in a hug, not asking why, not questioning.

“I know, Ab. We leave on Wednesday the 10h. In one week.” He paused. “Frank?” He asked, looking for some kind of reaction from his son, who was currently fiddling with his fingers in his lap and not looking up.

“Fran-?”

“What?!” Frank shouted, startling his father, who had been leaning across the table.

“What do you think? About this idea?” His father prodded further.

“What do I think? What do I think?! About this idea? Idea? It's not really just an idea at all, is it? If it's actually going to happen?!” Frank looked up at father, eyes wide.

“Frank, I-”

“You never even consulted us, Dad!” Frank continued, fury growing. “This is a big thing! It's not just, “oh we're moving to the next street”, no! We're moving to a whole new country that we've only ever heard about. You never even asked us or thought about how we might actually want to stay here, did you? I honestly do not want to go. I have a life here Dad, believe it or not. I have friends, I have-”.

“You don't have a job, Frank! You could have very well gotten a job a long, long time ago! You could have taken up employment when you were fourteen! And you're eighteen now, Frank! You're an adult! Our financial situation could have been a little better if you had pitched in! It’s time for you to stop acting like a teenager and grow up!” His father yelled back.

“Don't push all of the blame onto me!” Frank shouted, hammering a fist down onto the table, a lone fork falling to the floor as a result. “You don't already think I feel bad enough as it is? Oh, and I tried to get a job Dad, I did. I really did.” He sighed, looking around the small room. “But no one wanted to hire me and I wasn't going to waste my time. So, just stop.” Frank said, getting up from his chair and marching off outside. He slammed the front door and walked over to the tree that was situated in the front yard, tears gently mixing with the ongoing rain.

He sat down under the tree and cried. He hated himself for storming out of the kitchen. He hated himself for not having a job. He hated himself for being a disappointment. But most of all he hated himself for not even trying to make it better. The rain started to cascade down more heavily, making Frank shiver and his bottom lip quiver. But he didn't care. He needed space, some room to think. Even if that room to think was outside in the pouring rain under the next to nothing shelter of an old maple tree.

Frank tilted his head slightly to look up at the sky, droplets of water from his hair dropping down his cheeks. There were no stars visible tonight, the clouds were laid out against the entire sky, hiding the stars behind them.

“Frank?!”

He jumped.

“Get inside now! You'll catch a cold!” His mother yelled from the front porch, arms crossed and eyebrows pulled into a frown.

Frank sighed, wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and got to his feet, walking past his mother to get inside.

 

 

_**Thursday 4th April 1912** _

__

__

Frank sat on the edge of his wooden bed, kicking his feet together and staring at the wall in front of him, not really thinking about anything at all. Or trying not to, at least. Earlier that day, he had pulled on a hat and walked around to each one of his friend's houses, paying them a visit to inform them of his family's decision. The responses he received varied from “Oh, okay then” to “Frank! No, we'll miss you so much! Will we ever see you again?” How was he supposed to know the answers to their questions? He barely knew the answers to his own questions.

He grunted and laid his back down on the small bed to stare up at the ceiling, hands resting, clasped together on his chest. He closed his eyes to try and escape from the world when a small yap interrupted him.

“Puppet!” Frank sat up, smiling as his small dog ran into the room and jumped upon his bed, licking him on the cheek. Frank tickled the dog behind it's ears and giggled at the face it made, before resuming his previous position on the bed.

“How did you even afford those tickets?” Frank heard his mother's muffled voice float up from the room below.

Frank heard his father pull up a chair and sit down before answering, “Even though I did get fired, I had been thinking of quitting for quite some time now. And I decided to save up some excess money in case that ever happened. Thank God I did, eh?”

 

 

_**Wednesday 10th April 1912** _

__

__

Frank stepped out of the small carriage they had travelled in and onto the deck, ahead of his family and gasped at the sight before him. There was the Titanic, in all her glory. The ship was huge, with at least eight floors, a library, cafe's and even it's own swimming pool, apparently. Frank kept staring at the boat that would be his home for the next six days and smiled. Maybe moving to America wouldn't be so bad after all. A fresh start, a clean slate, a blank canvas, free for him to paint whatever he liked.

Frank, still grinning, turned around once more to pick up his suitcase and started making his way towards the ship, ignoring his mother's cry of “Frank, wait for us!”

“Passengers, please ensure that you have your tickets ready, thank you!” Came a loud voice, shouting from the port of the ship, a man waving his arms around to gain attention from onlookers, who were a steady number, there to wish their relatives and friends a good trip to the other side or just there to marvel at the spectacular sight. Frank continued walking, almost towards the gates holding back the crowd when he froze.

“Shit.” He muttered, turning around and abandoning his luggage, running back towards the carriage as it was about to leave.

“Sir! Sir!” He yelled, knocking frantically on the carriage door as his father turned around to watch him from a couple of short metres away. The carriage door was opened roughly, “What is it boy?!”

“My dog.” Frank whispered, looking around to make sure no one was watching when the carriage driver gently handed Frank the small animal, carefully sliding the poor dog underneath his coat. Dogs were not allowed on board, not first without special permission. Being a third class passenger, Frank would hate to think what would happen to the dog if anyone on board found out about him, but they couldn't leave him in England, that would be the lesser option.

Frank ran as fast as he could manage with a dog tucked under his coat and eventually caught up with his family, picking up his heavy suitcase from where he had left it earlier.

“Calling all steerage passengers! Steerage passengers are the first to board. Boarding now!” Came the same deep voice from before, shouting over the noise of the crowd and startling Frank from his thoughts. He grabbed his ticket from where it hid in his coat pocket and walked behind his family, ready to present it for inspection. He didn't know why they needed a ticket inspection, who would be dumb enough to forge a ticket on the Titanic? Each third class passenger also had to be inspected for physical ailments or disease. The crew did not want to be responsible for allowing illnesses or diseases to be passed on to the United States. The crew also did not want passengers to be refused entry to the US, for it would mean the passengers would have to be brought back to England, an expense White Star Lines did not wish to pay.

“Ticket please.” A man instructed from in front of Frank once he had made it to the front of the gate. Frank handed over his ticket and his palms began to sweat, hoping against all hopes that Puppet would not make a noise.

“Aah..Mr Frank Iero? What is your date of birth?” The man asked, stroking his thick moustache.

“Um..the 31st of October, sir.” Frank replied, hoping he didn't come across as too nervous.

The man eyed him over, lifting up Frank's chin and bringing out a small torch, before shining it in both of Frank's eyes, making him squint.

Seeming quite satisfied, the man nodded, handing his ticket back and gesturing for Frank to continue on board. With a sigh of relief, Frank gripped onto his suitcase and took his first step on board the ship, praying that the next time he stepped ashore, he had a purpose in life, that he knew what he was going to do and how he was going to do it. He wanted to do something meaningful and he hoped that maybe this ship held all of the answers he was looking for.

Frank found his parents and sister, seconds before the thick door to the lower deck was opened and the passengers were ushered inside, one by one by a smiling crew member.

“Have a great voyage!” The man said, as each person stepped inside.

“Oh my god.” Frank remarked as he stepped in side, closely followed by Abbie, who was clinging closely to his leg. The room was painted a bright white with strips of teak lining them, ajoined a white deck floor. Three sets of stairs were ahead of them, each leading down with shiny, metal railings and wooden deck steps. Frank couldn't believe how elegant everything looked, how new. It was like nothing he had ever seen before.

After marvelling at his surroundings for a while, Frank's thoughts were broken by a “C'mon, Frank! You have almost all week to look at the ship, come find your cabin first!” from his mother.

Shaking his head and giggling, Frank made sure Puppet was still in his place and grasped the handle of his suitcase again, lugging it down the narrow staircase and into the equally narrow corridor below.

“Now, according to this note, female passengers are on the right side and the male cabin's are on the left side of the ship.” Frank's mother read out, from a tiny piece of paper held out in her hand.“I'll take Abbie to find our room and I'll leave you and Frank to it. See you both at dinner!” She said, before taking the small child by the hand and leading her off to the far side of the corridor.

It took a while for Frank and his father to locate their cabin. The lower decks were laid out like a maze and Frank could tell that it was going to take a lot of effort to remember how to navigate his way around the ship, especially this part of it.

When they finally did find their room, Frank grinned. It was rather small, but that was all it had to be. It didn't need to be anything more. It held two sets of wooden bunk beds, one pushed up against each side of the room, with a small beside table between them.

Frank and his father walked in, before gently closing the door. He sat down on the lower bunk, which was surprisingly comfortable and released Puppet from the hold of his coat, patting him on the head in praise.

* * *

 

7 PM

Frank was seated on the lower bunk of the bed, rifling through his suitcase when he felt the ship's engines stop, arriving at Cherbourg, France. Feeling a bit claustrophobic and a tad curious, Frank emerged from his room, letting his father know that he would be going for a stroll (“make sure you're back for dinner!”) and planned to sneak out onto one of the lower decks, to watch as the news passengers boarded.

He pulled on a hat and roamed down the narrow corridor, passing several strangers as he did so, all of which ignored him. Frank took the stairs, two by two, and quickly found his way to the top and out onto the deck. The steerage passengers must already have boarded, as there was no one around except for on the upper decks.

Frank made sure no one was looking as he made for the edge of the deck, looking up to stare at the upper classes above, letting the sun warm him. Strictly speaking, passengers weren't allowed onto the deck, but he wasn't going to be trapped inside for six days. He would go completely mental.

Whispered shouting from up ahead made Frank jump and move to hide up against the wall of the deck, the last thing he wanted was to be caught eavesdropping, especially by first class passengers.

“Gerard, you've got to hand me those paintings soon.” A stern voice shouted, malice in his voice.

“But sir, I haven't quite finished them yet.” Someone pleaded, voice quavering, a man, clearly going by the name of 'Gerard'.

“Well, if you want to secure you future with this business, then you better get it done. I would see to it.” The other voice said. Frank heard him stomp off with a huff and the other man mutter a quiet “fuck you” before following close behind.


	2. Unsinkable Pt 2

_** ** _

__

_**Thursday April 11th 1912** _

__

__

  
Frank was seated at the long dining table, next to his parents and sister, barely able to hear himself think as almost every thought was interrupted or disturbed by a member of the crowd, the other third class passengers that were also seated in the room.

“Peter! Oh, Peter, look how lovely this meal is!”

“Doreen, you must visit the library, I've heard it stocks books that can be found but nowhere else!”

“Louisa, chew your food!”

Frank let out a groan and rested his head on the oak table before him, closing his eyes and choosing to completely ignore the plate of bread and butter next to him. His mother noticed his actions and moved a careful hand to pat him on the back.

“Frank, what's wrong?” She asked, still rubbing his back and looking concerned.

Frank shook his head and groaned again before replying, “I don't know. I just feel sick, I can't eat.” He felt as though he was going to throw up and he honestly didn't care if that happened on the elderly woman sitting beside him.

“Might just be the boat, you're not used to being on the water for such a long time. Try having a rest in your cabin?” Frank's mum suggested, before shovelling a spoonful of steamy soup into her mouth.

Frank nodded and pushed his plate away, earning a disappointed frown from his father across the table.

“Excuse me, ma'am.” Frank mumbled as he tried to push his way past the crowded tables and into the corridor outside, many people grunting in complaint as he did.

As soon as Frank escaped from the overwhelming dining area, he sighed, leaning against the wall before making his way down the one set of stairs to get to the lower deck, where his cabin was situated.

Out of breath from running the entire way, Frank walked into his cabin, slammed the door and collapsed on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It had become a habit. In the near silence, Frank wondered how many people were standing on top of him right now, how many people were unaware of the lower classes below. He wondered what their lives were like and the reason for why they were on board. Was it just so they could say “oh yeah, I was on the titanic” or was it something else? Were they moving to America, like his own family? Or were they simply going back? Were they travelling alone? With friends? Family, maybe? Were they having a good time? Or were they miserable? Sick, like him? Frank then thought about all of the people that could be under him, possibly wishing to be anywhere else but where they were. He thought of the ship's messenger, having to receive and send out signals all day long, probably never seeing more than a minute or two of sunlight per day. He thought of the crew in the engine room, shovelling tonne after tonne of coal, the only thing keeping the ship moving forward. Imagine what that must be like, Frank thought, knowing that if you stop, the ship does too. Frank couldn't handle doing what they do, having to stay below, at the very bottom of the ship, hugging the sea water just centimetres away and only being allowed a short break before starting again. Frank knew him and his family were poor when compared to other families, but really, they had nothing of importance to complain about.

Frank rolled over to his side, facing the wall. He groaned and pressed the palms of his hands up to his eyes, a new wave of sickness and claustrophobia washing over him.

“Shit.”

He needed air and he needed air fast. Frank jumped up from his bed and ran out of the cabin, sprinting down the corridor and almost knocking someone over in the progress, “Watch where you're going young man!”

The walls were closing in and Frank needed to breathe. He kept running and came to a stop when he reached the saloon deck, after having passed three flights of stairs to get there.

“Fuck this.” He muttered, out of breath and carefully strode over towards the front of the ship, an empty elevator poised against the wall.

“Bingo.” He said, looking to make sure no one caught him in the act and pushed the up arrow. The doors opened and Frank stepped inside, giggling to himself. Frank stood in silence, appreciating the details on the wall, when the elevator doors reopened to reveal the bridge deck. Otherwise known as the deck in which all of the millionaires and rich people stayed. It was fair to say that Frank felt a little more queasy and it had nothing to do with the water. Frank knew that sneaking off deck B would be a stupid decision but now that the decision had actually followed through, he felt like melting into the floor. People were going to realise that he didn't belong here, what with his frayed shirt and holes in his jeans. Frank bit his bottom lip and stepped out of the elevator, before making a quick dash to the door on the right and exiting onto the deck outside.

Frank stepped up to the railing and looked below, the water gushing about in waves. He then looked up to the bright sky, breathing in the fresh air, almost feeling better already.

“Gerard, what is that?!” Someone yelled, making Frank jump. There were two people standing not even four metres away from him. Luckily for Frank, they hadn't noticed him yet and lucky still, they didn't notice when Frank got on his hands and knees and crawled down below a table that just happened to be placed in a convenient spot on the deck, making an excellent hiding spot.

“It's the back of the ship, the water escaping below, turning into waves an-”

“I. Do. Not. Care!” The man yelled at this Gerard, waving his arms about and carrying on like a five year old whose mother didn't let him purchase a lollipop. “Gerard! We don't need this! What good is this?? People don't want to see the back of the fucking Titanic!”

Frank watched as this Gerard character closed his eyes, possibly trying to block out the man's negativity and clenched his fist. Frank couldn't see what the man's problem was, Gerard's painting looked fine. In fact, more than fine. It looked amazing. From his place under the table, Frank could see the way the man had highlighted the railing, making it stand out against the contours of the water and the sun shining down on it.

“I brought you on this ship so that you could paint the damn thing and show everyone what it's like! So paint!” The man yelled, making both Gerard and Frank jump.

“O-okay.” Gerard said, quietly, screwing up his face and shakily wiping a strand of long, black hair from his face. “What do I do with this?”

“Throw it overboard where it belongs.”

“B-but, I've been working on this all day!” Gerard protested, eyebrows raised.

Frank's jaw dropped and every vein in his body was telling him to run out from under the table and push that man overboard. To watch that man suffer and struggle for air. Wow. He was never really a violent person. And why was Frank wanting to protect this Gerard guy anyway? He had never even made eye contact with him, yet alone talk to him. Frank watched in horror, as Gerard stood still and the man unhooked the painting from the wooden easel and dumped it over the edge of the ship, smirking. The man walked back onto the ship without another word, leaving a rejected Gerard alone.

Frank longed to emerge from the table and somehow comfort the man, who was clearly distressed. But, he couldn't. This man, this artist, was clearly a wealthy, first class passenger and on his list of people to talk to, Frank would not be one of them.

“RAH!” Gerard screamed, kicking his easel and sending it flying towards Frank. Frank jumped, his head hitting the underside of the table. He couldn't help but let out a “Fucking ow!”

Gerard stopped in his tracks, widening his eyes, looking even more pale than usual.

“H-hello?” He asked. Frank bit his lip and closed his eyes, in a futile attempt at making himself invisible. He felt like a three year old who believed that when playing hide-and-seek, that if you couldn't see them, they couldn't see you. Brilliant logic. Frank mentally slapped himself.

“Uh..what are you doing under the table?” Fuck.

Frank slowly brought his head up and his brain clicked. “Oh! Me? I was uh...uh...looking for a bracelet that I dropped earlier! But, I can't seem to find it! I'll come back later!” Frank cringed with every new word he spoke. Gerard just continued to glare at him, confused.

Just then, the ship stopped and Frank's inner self jumped with glee. “Oh! The ship's stopped, we must have arrived in Queenstown! Well, I must dash. Uh, bye?” He said, running off without a backwards glance and leaving Gerard standing there, still confused.

Frank cursed himself every second of the way back down to his deck.

**8PM**

Frank was once again, seated in the third class dining saloon next to his family and the way too loud hum of the other people in the room made Frank want to cut off his ears. He groaned and spooned half a potato into his mouth, almost throwing up when the same elderly woman from lunch offered him her corned beef.

“Ah, no thanks, I don't eat meat.”

“Don't eat meat?! Silly boy!” She ranted before turning her head and not looking back.

Frank thanked the high heavens.

“So, Frank, where did you disappear to after lunch?” His father began.

“Oh, I was..uh...sleeping.” Frank crossed his fingers under the table.

“But you weren't in the cabin?”

“Oh...that's because I was in the smoking room. On the shelter deck.” Frank mentally patted himself on the back for reading up on the map before boarding.

“You went without us?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you felt sick.”

“I did feel sick.”

“So why didn't you go to the cabin?”

“Because maybe I didn't want to?”

“Frank, don't be difficult.”

“I'm not being difficult.” He clenched his fist under the table and glanced at his mother, pleading with his eyes for some type of back up.

“Frank, you're the one who wanted to bring the damn dog on here.”

“Dad?! How has that got to do with anything?!” He raised his voice. “Besides, what were we going to do? Just leave him on the side of the street and hope someone nice picked him up?!”

“Frank.”

“Don't “Frank” me. You're an asshole.”

The room went quiet and everyone gasped. Frank shrugged and walked out, the crowd watching as he did so.

* * *

 

Frank walked out onto the top deck and wandered over to the stern, the rear of the ship. He needed to be alone. And what better way to be alone then in the freezing cold darkness at the end of the Titanic? Except, he wasn't alone.

Frank stopped in his tracks, heart in his throat as he saw a figure clinging to the end of the boat. Over the railing. He started to shake. What should he do? Should he stand there? Was the person just checking out the view? No. Idiot. This was person was clearly not checking out the view. This person was going to jump. But why?

Frank looked up at the stars and jerked his head, jumping as he heard the drop of a shoe into the deep, icy water below. Frank carefully stepped closer to the figure, a man, but not too close. He didn't want to scare him or distraught him any further.

“H-hey. M-man, please don't do this.” Frank said almost clearly, his voice getting stuck somewhere on the way out.

“Leave me alone.” Frank knew that voice.

“You don't want to do this.” Frank edged a little closer.

“You don't know me.” Gerard said, in an eerily calm tone.

“I don't.” Frank said, perusing through his mind, yelling at himself to think of something, anything. “But I do know that no one should ever fling themselves off the back of a cruise ship. Especially not the Titanic.”

There was a slight pause and Gerard turned his head to stare at Frank, his eyes glinting slightly in the dark. “Are you fucking with me?”

“What?! No. No, I'm not.” Frank said, stepping a little closer to the distressed man. “Look, I honestly have no idea what to say right now. But I know that this decision that you're about to make,” Frank paused to gesture out to the ocean, “is not a wise decision.”

Quiet.

“Why are you doing this? Why?” Frank asked, folding his arms to try and block out the cold air.

“My boss fired me.” Shit.

“So?” Bad decision, Frank. Bad.

“So?! Listen, punk. I don't have a job. I don't have any other people I know on this ship. I have no fucking money other than the money I brought with me on this ship, because hey! I was supposed to earn a lot more, but no! My work isn't good enough. He said I wasn't good enough. That I would never be good enough.” Gerard said,voice wavering, still hanging on tight to the railing, still looking out longingly at the waves.

“Do you believe him?”

“…”

“You're going to kill yourself because of something your boss told you?”

“...”

“What kind of work is it that you do anyway?” Frank asked, hoping that idle chitchat will distract Gerard from the task at hand.

“I...paint. Yeah, I paint. Or, I did.”

“Can I see them?”

“My what?”

“Your paintings.”

Gerard nodded, stiffly and jerked his head toward the right, where there was a bag strewn across the floor, contents spilling out across the deck. Frank carefully walked over to the bag, still with his eyes on Gerard and picked up the canvas that was closest to him. It depicted a staircase, the grand staircase. And, wow. It was amazing.

“Holy shit, this is really good. Like, great!” Frank praised, looking from the painting to the man.

“You're just saying that to make me not jump.”

“No. Seriously, I mean it. This is amazing.” Frank said, making eye contact with Gerard for the very first time.

“You really think so?” Gerard asked, a small grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“How could anyone think these were bad?” Frank asked, an open question. The detail Gerard put into each painting was like nothing Frank had ever seen before. These weren't just the generic paintings that people hung up on walls to fill space, these were paintings that people went out of their way to get their hands on.

“He said it didn't fit with the norm, that they were too different. But I'm out of ideas, and I thought those were decent. Clearly not. But without a job, an outlet, how am I supposed to live? I have nothing now.” Gerard said, sighing and loosening his grip slightly on the railing.

Frank instantly stepped forward and rested a hand on the man's shoulder.

“Don't. I'm not done.” Frank said. “What's your name?”

“G-Gerard.”

“Well, Gerard, I can tell you now that you should do whatever you want with these. Don't work for anyone. Work for yourself. These are going to be awesome. New York’s gonna love it. Fuck the norm. Do something different. Difference is what scares people. People expect you to do as you're told, to be predictable. But being predictable means that nothing ever changes. Things remain stagnant, forever. Nothing would change. You've gotta be different. Be wild. Let you control you, and put a big middle finger up towards anyone who doesn't let you do that. Prove the world wrong. Prove your boss wrong.”

Quiet. Frank bit his lip and looked down at his feet.. He had failed. He would never be able to live this down. Just then, Frank saw Gerard carefully step over from the ship railing and he flung himself at Frank, hugging him with tears in his eyes.

“Thank you so much.” He said, gripping at Frank's shoulders.

“No problem, I say what I mean.” Frank said, rubbing his back. “Now don't you ever go flinging yourself off ships ever again, okay?”

Gerard nodded, shivering. Frank looked behind him for anything that could stop the cold and found a towel near the edge of the rail. He picked it up and wrapped it around Gerard, dragging him over to the nearest seat and sitting down beside him, rubbing Gerard's arm to try and warm him.

Frank heard Gerard muffle a sob and before he knew it, the man was crying on Frank's shoulder.

“..Hey, hey...are you okay?” Frank asked, trying to wipe Gerard's wet hair from his face.

“I-I just can't believe I almost did that. I mean, it's not the first time but-”

“Not the first time...?” Frank asked, eyes wide.

“No. I have a shitty head, I'm too sensitive and take what people say far too seriously. I care too much about what other people think, I'm too hard on myself and it sucks.” Gerard said, wiping at his eyes with frozen fingers.

“You've got to learn to love yourself.”

“I do. ”

They sat there in silence for a few moments, looking up at the chilly night around them, reflecting.

“Thank you so much for this. I probably would have been gasping for air drowning right about now.” Gerard paused, lip quivering slightly as he looked over at the place where he had almost fallen from. “I had it in my head that I would complete my task this time. I never seem to finish anything I start, inspiration for me, is hard to find. Them drawings you saw before have been my only proper drawings, sketches that I have poured my heart into, for a couple of months now. And they were turned down, it tore my heart out. I can't find inspiration. And I had it imprinted in my head that I didn't want to be saved. And if anyone tried I wouldn't let them. Why would I let myself be saved if I didn't want to be saved? But you, you said all of the right things. And I don't know, something inside me says that I need to say put on this boat. I could learn a couple of things.”

Frank sat there in awe, listening to the older man speak, watching as the words he spoke slivered through the side of his mouth as he talked.

“I've known you what, fifteen minutes? And I already consider you one of my good friends.” Gerard paused, inspecting Frank's face. “I don't even know your name!” he continued, throwing his hands up in the air at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Frank.”

“Frank.” Gerard repeated, smiling and leaning against Frank's shoulder. “So, Frank. Did you ever find that bracelet of yours?” He asked, smirking.


	3. Unsinkable Pt 3

_** ** _

__

__

_**Friday April 12th 1912** _

Frank was seated at his bunk, scribbling down assorted words onto a piece of paper, petting at his dog and slowly wasting away the time. He stared at the rumpled paper in his hands and sighed, before scrunching it up and tossing it under his bunk.

Frank laid back on his bed and smiled, listening to the snores of a hung-over stranger in the bunk next to his. He closed his eyes and thought of home, the place he would probably never see again. England had been Frank's home his whole life, and he had never really had any intentions of that changing. Now that they were on board the Titanic, the “ship of dreams”, Frank wondered about what was going to happen to him and his family when they finally did reach New York. Where would they go? His father had spent everything they had just to get tickets for the ship. How were they going to survive once the ship stopped again? They had nothing. No money to afford a house with. No family to stay with for a while. They didn't even have anything with enough value to sell. Maybe they would have been better off staying in England.

Frank's thoughts then shifted to Gerard, the man he had saved the night before. After chatting for almost an hour after the ordeal, Gerard had suggested they meet again, on the same deck, at noon. To be honest with himself, Frank was nervous. Now that last night's situation was over, would Gerard feel as friendly towards Frank as he did? Would he even remember the young boy? Gerard couldn't possibly want to be friends with him, the different social status between the two was striking. Why would Gerard want to befriend a grimy, steerage passenger? Frank shook his head and took another deep sigh, frowning. Even if Gerard didn't remember Frank or why he was there, it would be worth it to see those bright eyes and smile at least once more.

“What am I going to do, Puppet?” Frank asked softly, stroking behind his dog's ear.

* * *

 

 

Frank waited until his parents and sister had left for lunch, leaving him alone in his cabin due to due to “feeling ill” once again. Now was his time to flee. He patted his small dog on the head, giggled and left the room, closing the door to the cabin with a quiet 'thud', not wanting to wake the still-sleeping man on the top bunk.

He had managed to walk a small length of the corridor after stepping off the first flight of stairs when he heard a voice.

“Frank?! Where are you going, young man?!”

His dad.

Shit.

“Um...I need some air?” Frank explained, turning around to face his father, who was looking at him spitefully.

“Mmm? And why does that sound like a question?” His father asked, clicking his tongue. “Where are you really going, Frank?”

“To get air. I feel sick.” He said, lying straight through his teeth. “What about you? Where are you going?”

“I was sneaking food to the damn dog. Seems as though somebody forgot about that part.” His father remarked, folding his arms and standing up straight, in a bid to seem taller.

Frank internally cursed himself.

“Frank, just tell me where you're going! You can't go onto the deck, you very well know that! Us people aren't allowed up there! Do you want to get us all kicked off?!” He said, walking closer to Frank to whisper as loud as he could into his ear. “Frank. Where are you going?!”

“Fine! I'm going to meet someone, happy?! Surprised that I made a friend, dad?!” He shouted, stepping back.

“Meet someone?! You don't know anyone else on this ship, Frank!” His father shouted, question after question spitting out of his mouth.

“How would you know?!”

“Well, who is she then?!”

“Who said it was a she?!” Frank yelled back, shocked at himself, before turning in the opposite direction and running along his intended course, his father running to chase after him but then stopping after four steps to catch his breath and weigh up the worth of the decision.

Once Frank had endured the elevator once again and arrived at B deck, he froze. The corridors and rooms surrounding were filled with first class passengers, all smiling, laughing, drinking in their fine garments and head ware.

Shit. How was Frank supposed to push through them all to get to the deck, which a) he wasn't allowed onto in the first place and b) someone was definitely going to notice the young outcast with ripped jeans, ruffled hair and no tie. He began to feel beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck and he gulped, quickly side stepping to lean back up against the far wall, eyes scanning through the crowd to look for an easy break, but finding none. What was he going to do? If he was caught, he would probably never be allowed out of his cabin until the ship docked at New York.

Frank bit the side of his cheek and gasped as he spotted an abandoned hat and scarf hanging up on the wall in front of him. He swiftly glanced around, making sure that he wouldn't get caught in the act, before snatching the items off of the hook and putting them on, quickly wrapping the scarf around his neck and lowering the hat so people had to go to great effort to actually see his face. Frank smiled to himself and walked quickly through the crowd, pretending to check his watch as if he were late to something important. Which was a half lie.

He walked through the corridors, made his way through the first class smoking room, avoiding eye contact with the other passengers and looking down at his feet the whole time, and then finally rounded the corner to where the deck entrance would be

Frank skidded and stopped.

There was a guard standing in front of the door.

And he had definitely seen Frank.

Crap.

“Excuse me, where do you think you're going?” The guard asked, raising a lone eyebrow and folding his broad arms together across his chest. He had cropped blonde hair with a clean, trimmed beard and was quite large in comparison to the small boy stood in front of him.

“Um...I was just going for a stroll.” Frank said, mindlessly fiddling with the ends of the borrowed scarf, fighting the urge to run away as fast as he could, back towards the elevators so that he could curl up inside his bunk and forget about ever meeting Gerard or anyone else on board the ship at all.

“And you just happened to round the corner to which this door was? This is a dead end, sir, nothing else is here.” The guard continued, smirking, as if waiting for the man in front of him to crack and express all of his awful sins.

“Oh, well I must be lost! I'll turn around and go back, shall I?” Frank said, seconds away from throwing his hat to the man and turning on his heels to flee.

“Sir, you know very well that passengers are not allowed onto the dec-”

“Robert!” Frank jumped and heard loud footsteps, before a hand came to rest on his right shoulder. Gerard. “He's with me, you idiot!” Gerard looked down at him, grinning and shaking his head.

“Oh.” The guard, Robert apparently, said, slowly unfolding his arms to rest a careful hand on the door knob, before looking between the two. “Oh.”

“I thought I told you I was expecting someone?” Gerard asked, tightening his arm around Frank and grinning.

“Yeah, but-”

“But?”

“Um, no but's. Go through.” Robert said, opening the door wide and stepping aside, before gesturing for them both to continue walking out onto the outside deck. Gerard moved his arm from around Frank and slightly tilted his head toward the door in a gesture for the younger man to follow him, before stepping outside, a medium sized and heavy looking leather briefcase in hand.

Frank went to follow but was abruptly stopped by the guard.

“And your name, sir?” He asked, eyes screwing up as they continued scanning over Frank's face, as if to find a recognisable flaw hidden there.

“Uh...I'm, my name's Frank.”

“Robert. Pleased to meet you.” The strange man said, before shaking Frank's hand eagerly and stepping aside once again, waiting for Frank to continue on his original route. Frank raised an eyebrow and gently shook his head, shaking off the man's harsh glare.

Frank finally continued out onto the deck, where he found Gerard seated precariously atop a small stool, which was placed in front of an easel.

“Frank, Frank! Come sit down!” Gerard clapped, a little too enthusiastically as he pointed to a spot on the wooden deck beside him and the impending white of the blank canvas.

The younger man grinned and walked over to sit down next to the excited artist.

“So, what are you painting today?” Frank asked, lifting his arm to shield the sun as he looked up.

“Oh, that's for me to know and for you to eventually find out when it's finished.” Gerard smirked, turning his easel and stool to the side in order to hide the canvas from wandering eyes.

Frank raised an eyebrow and reflected the smirk, laying back to look at the sun.

“No! You've got to sit up!” Gerard explained, motioning with his hands.

Frank rolled his eyes and sat back up. “Aw, but now I'm going to be bored.”

“Oh hush.” The older man laughed, throwing Frank a thick, bound book. “Here, flick through my other sketchbook.”

“Other sketchbook?! As in, there's more than one?” Frank asked, amazed at how someone not so much older than him could have the time, patience and talent to fill up two whole thick books of paper with artwork.

“More than one? There's more than twenty lying around somewhere.” Gerard said, gently dabbing a paintbrush with colour and marking the canvas.

Frank looked back at him and sighed.

The pair remained on the deck well into the early hours of the evening, only emerging from their small bubble when the artist announced “it is complete!”, placing a worn paintbrush into it's case and resting both hands in his lap to admire the work.

“..So, am I able to see it now?” Frank asked, sheepishly.

“Hm..Oh! Yes, it's probably not that good but...I don't know if-”

“Oh my God!” Frank gasped, glancing at the masterpiece before him.

Gerard had not been painting the sky, the ship, flowers or anything that had previously been added to his sketchbook. There was a smiling face on the canvas before the pair, and that face belonged to Frank. The painter had not missed out on even one important detail, they all seemed to be there. His eyebrows, the mark at the very top of his nose, the almost hidden freckles and even the colour of his eyes. It was almost as if there were another Frank living within the paint.

“...So, do you like it?” Gerard asked, scratching anxiously at his scalp as he turned to the other man.

“I love it! It's perfect!” Frank cried, unable to steer his eyes. “That may sound vain but this is nothing like looking into a mirror. This is...wow.”

“Thank you dearly.” Gerard said, his cheeks turning a rosy red.

“No problem. I mean what I say.” Frank winked.

* * *

 

Later that evening, after both had consumed their dinners, the pair met yet again out on the boat's deck.

Amidst a small lull in conversation, Frank lifted his head to look straight up at the bright stars surrounding them and momentarily closed his eyes, enjoying the sound of the ocean beneath his feet and the quiet breathing of the being beside him.

“Gerard?” Frank called softly, his eyes still closed.

“Hmm?”

“I don't understand why you want to be in my company.”

“What do you mean?”

Frank re-opened his lids and looked at the figure stood next to him. “I mean, look at you. You're wealthy, talented, good looking, well spoken. You would be able to speak to anybody on this ship and have them be happy with your presence. And then in stark contrast, there's me. I'm just a shitty third class passenger with no money to his name and nothing going for him.”

Gerard cocked his head. “Frank, have you ever looked at yourself in a mirror?”

“Yes, and I hate it.” The younger man stated, not seeing the point.

“Well, you shouldn't.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Gerard shook his head and moved to put a hand on the other's shoulder. “Frank, you need to understand that you are more than what society sees you as. To most you may be just that, a third class passenger who got lucky and found a place on the world's biggest ship. But, if anyone were to think like that, they'd be terribly incorrect. In fact, if anyone ever looked deeper than that, they'd find a young, brave man who helped me find myself again. You helped me realise that hey, maybe I’m not that bad a person. You helped me feel like I was worth something again, worth something other than the fact that I had a lot of money. Look, I know this sounds so stupid, we only met yesterday? I feel like I've known you my whole life.” Gerard whispered, looking up at where the moon should have been, before continuing. “You were, are, the reason I'm still breathing right now. And if that doesn't mean anything, then I don't know what does.”

The older man then leaned down to plant a lingering kiss on Frank's cheek, muttered a “good night” and walked away, leaving the other standing alone on the deck, surprised and confused.

* * *

 

“Goodnight mum!” Frank whispered as he knocked on the cabin door of his mother and sister.

The door quietly creaked open and his mother slipped outside, “Would you be able to make sure Abbie gets to sleep while I make a quick trip to the bathroom?”

“Sure.”

Frank slowly closed the door and tip-toed over to his younger sister's bunk and lay down beside her, making sure not to wake the other occupants.

“Hey, Abbie.”

“Hello, Frankie.”

“Shh, go to sleep.”

The pair lay in silence, listening to the snores above them and awaiting the return of their mother.

“Frankie, I miss home.” The girl said, hiccuping and rubbing her eyes in the dark.

“Aw, Abbie, don't cry. I miss home too.” He replied, rubbing at her arm to soothe her. “But trust me, Ab, America will be even better. I know it will be.”

“Okay, Frankie. Good night.” She said, rolling over.

Her brother patted her on the head and smiled in the dark, closing his eyes too.

“Frankie, what happens if the ship sinks?”

“Abbie, you know that won't happen. This ship is unsinkable.”

“Yeah, but what if it does?”


	4. Unsinkable Pt 4

**_Saturday April 13 th 1912_ **

 

Frank woke with a jolt to the sound of something tapping, hitting his head on the low bunk above him.

 

“Ow...” He muttered, rubbing at the top of his scalp, which would most likely develop a bump later in the morning.

 

Frank sat up (as much as he could) on the edge of his bunk, legs hanging out the side, as he searched to find the source of the tapping.

 

“Frank?” A whispered voice came from the other side of the cabin door, rusing Puppet from his slumber and causing the small dog to yap at the stranger on the outside.

 

“Oh drat, Puppet! Hush!” Frank scolded the dog, picking it up and placing her back on his bunk before stopping one last time to make sure none of the other inhabitants within the room (including his father) were yet awake. With the confirmation that they were still sleeping, Frank stepped outside and was met by the excited smile that belonged to Gerard.

 

“You have a dog?” Gerard laughed, pointing to the now closed cabin door. “Is that allowed?”

 

“...Not technically.” Frank smirked, nervously scratching behind his right ear. “So..um...why are you here so early? And how did you know which cabin I was staying in?” Frank was really nervous. Especially seeming as all he could think of when he looked up at Gerard was the sly kiss on the cheek he had received the night before. He hoped the man wouldn't be able to spot his faint blush.

 

“To answer the latter, I have my ways. To answer the former, I am here so early to inform you that you must join me on an urgent matter right away.” The taller man answered, grinning.

 

“Urgent matter? What does that involve?”

 

“Laughing at the wealthy.”

 

* * *

 

 

The pair clambered up the stairs in a not so quiet fashion, laughing and giggling as though they were each ten years younger, stopping after each flight to ease the pain in the artist's chest, caused by excessive smoking.

 

Frank instantly noticed the difference in his surroundings as they eventually approached the first class reception room, which was situated between the grand staircase (which as yet remained unseen by Frank) and the first class dining room. Compared to third class quarters, the first class space was like heaven and beyond. The floors were meticulously designed to resemble a Persian carpet and the many pieces of furniture spread throughout the room were made of the finest oak. The roof was scattered with various tessellations, the paint bright and clean and even the room itself felt much more smooth and still, it was hard to tell they were on a ship at all.

 

Next, Frank noticed the difference in the people. The men wore smart looking waistcoats, some with different coloured ties, polished shoes, canes and the women wore heavy looking dresses, some frilly, some not, complete with heeled shoes, feathered hats and whatever over the top make-up they could get their delicate, rich hands on. Even the children were dressed neatly, small boys behaving themselves in well tailored suits and dress pants, and daughters in skirts and ribboned plaits.

 

But it wasn't only the dress he noticed, but the change in personalities. The children didn't seem as happy as those in steerage, perhaps weighed down by the rules forced upon them by their rich parents, the men talked amongst themselves, sometimes bringing their trophy wife along with them, a shiny toy to show off to his friends, and the women seemed secluded, not straying far from their family or already established friendship circle, or of course, to meet an equally wealthy old friend or business partner.

 

Frank looked down at his still ripped pants and baggy shirt in comparison to the clean and proper chattering around him. Surely someone would notice soon. He was going to get kicked out. He would never see Gerard again.

 

“Frank, Frank, sit down. The fun is yet to begin.” Gerard spoke, breaking Frank from his trance. The older man was gesturing for Frank to sit down beside him on one of the two chairs that he had pushed together. Frank complied with a smile and a nod.

 

Gerard had situated the chairs in a way so that they could observe almost every corner within the the first class dining room, which was in the neighbouring room.

 

“Look at that woman over there.” Gerard said into Frank's ear, pointing his eyes to a slightly plump woman with a glum expression. “Ew, don't touch me without gloves on.” He impersonated in a high, screechy voice, making Frank sputter, having to cover his mouth in order to stop more laughter from emerging.

 

“How about that chap?” Frank whispered back, nodding his head to the left of the room. “No dear, I can't smile at you today, I've already used up my quota.”

 

“Frank!” Gerard laughed, playfully slapping him on the shoulder.

 

“No, you can't have that cake, it only costs twenty quid, choose another!”

 

The pair continued their banter for another half hour before a scream made them pause and look over in the direction of the middle of the dining area.

 

“THERE'S A RODENT IN MY SOUP!” Shouted the same plump woman from before.

 

Gerard giggled, quickly grabbing Frank by the arm and pulling him up out of the way, as the majority of people in the area ran about frantically either to help or scurry away in fear of the poor, white mouse.

 

The older man led them out of the room and down another staircase, to F Deck, but not before Frank paused.

 

“You didn't.” He smirked, knowingly.

 

“Did what?” Gerard asked, feigning innocence as he latched on, once again, to Frank's arm and led him downstairs.

 

“Where are we going?” Frank asked, just as his answer showed itself in the form of the ship's only heated swimming pool.

 

“Care for an early morning swim?” Gerard asked, already unbuttoning his waistcoat and hanging it over the thin railing.

 

“Uh...okay.” Frank replied, stepping into the warm room. He sat on the ground to first remove his shoes and socks. He wasn't growing increasingly nervous at all. No.

 

Before Frank had moved to unbutton his own shirt, a splash from behind left him soaking wet.

 

“Gerard!”

 

The older splashed him again, grinning wider.

 

“That's it! You are a dead man!”

 

Frank hurriedly removed his shirt and trousers and jumped into the pool, splashing back as Gerard splashed him once more.

 

Frank dived under the water to avoid the continual splashing of water and grabbed at the other man's hands, pinning them down with force so that the splashing was stopped.

 

“You ruined the fun.”

 

“No, I didn't.” Frank replied, standing opposite the other man and looking into his eyes, which were now framed by wet lashes.

 

Without another coherent thought, Frank slowly leaned forward and found his lips planted on another’s, who responded eagerly and wound his hands to pull at Frank's hair. Gerard moaned quietly as he drew back.

 

“You're so beautiful.” He said, water dripping down the side of his face from his dark hair as he searched Frank's eyes.

 

The pair suddenly jumped apart as another presence entered the room, unwelcome.

 

“Oi! You two!” It was a guard of some sort, clearly meant to be surveying the well-being of people using the pool room.

 

“Speak your names.”

 

“Gerard Way.”

 

“Ah, yes. First class, famous artist. And you?” The dark haired man turned to Frank, who gulped.

 

“Frank Iero?” It came out as a question and Frank cursed himself. Why didn't he think of a false name?

 

“Hey! You're steerage, aren't ya? Get out, you little bastard! I'll have to report you. Can't have you sorts meddling with these folk! Are you okay, Mr Way? Did this boy startle you? It's okay, I'll sort him out.” The man replied, adjusting his hat and walking over to the edge of the pool, as if ready to grab Frank.

 

“You will leave Mr Iero alone and you will tell nobody about this encounter.” Gerard said, getting out of the pool to stand a good two inches taller than the measly guard.

 

“It's my job.”

 

Frank watched as Gerard walked over to pick up his discarded pants, and removed a wad of cash from his pockets, handing over an unspeakable amount to the guard.

 

“You will keep quiet.” Gerard commanded, standing tall over the guard, who looked to be the same age as Frank.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Gerard and Frank quickly dressed and exited the room, leaving a baffled guard in their wake.

 

Frank followed Gerard, the pair travelling in silence, as they twisted their way through the many corridors and maze-like paths that found their way up to the Shelter deck, where the majority of the first class cabins, including Gerard's, were situated.

 

Once the door to the cabin was opened by the elder and the lights were switched on, Gerard ushered Frank inside and the younger gasped at the sight of the interior. The walls were doused in Georgian mahogany, with various frames of a red fabric lining the walls. Towards the centre of the room sat a small dining table (which was hidden by a vast amount of art supplies) flanked by two chairs, a sofa to the right of the room and a large four poster bed sat to the left of the cabin. It was like a mouse escaping from it's cage and being released into a field for the first time, especially when in comparison to Frank's cabin which he had to share with four others plus his dog.

 

“Frank, sit, sit!” Gerard said, patting the sofa before placing himself down onto one of the dining chairs.

 

The shorter man nodded and sat down. “This room is so big!” Frank marvelled, unable to believe he was on a ship and not checked into a six star hotel.

 

Gerard watched Frank's face, amused at his awe. He continued watching as the other took in more of his surroundings.

 

“You have a guitar?!” Frank jumped from his seat and ran over to the musical instrument, which was leaning on the far wall adjacent to the entrance.

 

“I don't play, it's just there for when I get bored.” Gerard explained, watching as Frank picked up the guitar and began strumming. “Do you play?”

 

“My friend back in England does, but no, I don't play. I've always wanted to though, I've just never had the opportunity.”

 

“Well, here's your opportunity.”

 

Frank stopped strumming and stared at the other man.

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Yeah, why not? Go ahead! You can play while I sketch.”

 

“Thank you so much!” Frank beamed, momentarily setting the instrument down as he ran to engulf the taller man in a hug of gratitude. Gerard laughed, managing to hide his blush against the other's shoulder.

 

Frank played guitar and Gerard put pencil to paper for what seemed like hours before one of them broke the near silence with his voice.

 

“Gerard, why did you take me to the reception room today?” Gerard turned to face Frank, who was nursing the guitar in his lap and staring straight through him.

 

“I...uh-wanted to show you that being rich isn't all that it is cracked up to be.”

 

“Do you have an answer for everything?” Frank smirked.

 

“I haven't been asked everything, now have I?” Gerard retorted, closing his art case and heading for the door. “Come, Frank! Out to the deck once more!”

 

“Not if I beat you to it!” Frank cried, racing from the bed and pushing the other man aside in his haste.

 

* * *

 

 

“Gerard, why is it that you love painting so much?” Frank asked, curious. The two had resumed their places from the day before on the ship's deck, Gerard painting and Frank sitting beside him.

 

“The reason I love painting so much is because there is only so much that the eye can see. What you see is just one half of that thing. What you think makes up the other half. When I paint something, I not only put into that painting what I see, but what I think. When you look at this painting, what do you see, Frank?” Gerard asked, scooting his canvas around so that Frank could take a peek.

 

“I see this ship?”

 

“Yes, you do see this ship. But notice how no one is out on the deck? Notice the rough tides and the starless sky? This not only depicts the image of this here ship, but the chaos of the society aboard. A society too caught up with class distinction and social structure to notice anyone out of the ordinary. This painting tells the message of looming tragedy.” Gerard said, sticking his tongue out a fraction as he touched up a mark on the bow.

 

“Looming tragedy?”

 

“Yes. The tragedy of not understanding, or better yet, not taking the time to understand what is stationed around you.”

 

“Did you just make that up?” Frank grinned, sceptical.

 

“No!” Gerard scoffed, turning his canvas back around. “One day you'll agree with me.”

 

“Oh, sure.”

 

“You will!”

 

“Going by what you just said about seeing and thoughts, wouldn't it also make sense that the viewer of the painting would take into account their own thoughts and therefore make an assumption about the painting themselves therefore giving the painting a completely different viewpoint each time?”

 

“You surprise me sometimes.”

 

“Good.” Frank giggled, poking Gerard in the back of the leg.

 

“Gerard that looks horribly boring.” Came a booming voice over Frank's shoulder, making him start with fright.

 

“Bruce, I told you I quit!” Gerard said through clenched teeth, snapping his case shut.

 

“Doesn't change the fact!” The man was a horrid sight to anyone's eyes. Chubby, a curly moustache and dark eyes that stared into your soul.

 

“Just leave me alone.” Gerard said, eyes closed and fists tensed. “Haven't you got more important things to do?”

 

“As a matter of fact I-”

 

“HOW CAN YOU THINK THIS IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH?!” Frank erupted, pulling Gerard's canvas from off of the easel and pushing it towards the bully's face. “You know what? I think you just feel threatened. Because this work is better than anything you will ever achieve.”

 

Gerard was stunned that such a yell could emerge from such a small person.

 

The other man did not seem to be too pleased.

 

“Call me when we get to New York and we'll continue this discussion. You'll be eating your words Mr Iero.”

 

The man walked off in a huff, obviously not used to be stood up to.

 

“Don't argue with him Frank, he is a very powerful man.”

 

“How did he know my name?” Frank stood in front of Gerard and carefully placed the artwork back down onto it's stand. “I don't understand.”

 

“That man owns White Star lines.”

 

“Oh.”

 

* * *

 

“Dear Almighty Lord,

we pray that you will do what you think is right whilst we are aboard this ship and help us on our journey towards a new life in America.”

Frank's father spoke as the Iero family sat huddled together in the third class sitting room, practically alone as most of the other passengers had made their ways to bed.

“We also pray that I have a great birthday tomorrow.”

“Abbie you can't just-”

“Frank, we are in the middle of prayer.”

 “Amen”


End file.
